to herself and then pointed at him. Said nothing. Pointed again, then put her hands together on the table.
“I tried to shield you from this shit forever, Em. Didn’t want you to worry.”
She turned to him. She looked stunned, rightfully so, and no doubt angry and scared, and it was everything he hadn’t wanted to do to her.
“I’m sorry, Em,” he said quietly.
“You’re a CIA agent.”
“Yes.”
“Like on TV.”
“They don’t always get it right,” he offered lamely, and when she glared he nodded. “Yes, like that.”
“And you came here to find Lucky.”
“No. That was…coincidence. I was following Nate, the SEAL from his team.”
“You think he was coming here to hurt us?”
“He said he was coming here to surf. He seemed as surprised to find Lucky here as I was.”
“And you think Lucky was sent here to hurt us but lost his memory instead?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“I need some time,” she said quietly, her arms wrapped around herself. “I need to just take some time and absorb all of this.”
“Look, I get that, but we have to talk first,” he said.
“About Lucky?”
“Yes.”
She dropped her arms to her sides and slumped into the kitchen chair. Their parents wouldn’t be back until that evening—he wouldn’t leave her alone until then.
Nate had seemed surprised that Lucky was living with Dash’s family, but they were all skillfully trained liars, and Dash was trained to not believe anyone.
And yet, he believed Lucky. So fuck his training to hell.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Hate to say it, but can you start from the beginning?”
She did, told him the story of finding Lucky, her tone flat the entire time, a monotone monologue. Everything she said matched Lucky’s timeline to a T. She talked about how balanced the books were since he got here. How he split his tips because he said he didn’t need anything. She told him that the majority of the tips were Lucky’s, which Dash could easily see. She talked about his demeanor. His general habits.
Dash had already swept the apartment, house and bar and found nothing out of the ordinary. “Relationships?”
“One-night stands. He was lonely, but he wouldn’t let himself get involved.” She sounded so defensive.
“Did he ever meet with anyone who made you feel uncomfortable?”
“Are you kidding me with this?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I never saw any terrorist at the bar.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
“Feels like it.”
“It’s part of my job, Em. I’ve got to protect you.”
“Wouldn’t need to if you didn’t bring the danger to us.” She stared at him like she’d never seen him before. “So what else is a lie?”
“Nothing.”
“The photography is.”
“No, it’s not. That’s a separate job that happened to work perfectly with this one. It’s what I’d be doing anyway. I’m just lucky I can combine the two.”
At the mention of the word lucky , she blanched. “When can I talk to him?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Could the answer be never?”
“I don’t want it to be.” Truth be told, he’d love to clear these guys. They were American heroes, best of the best.
And if one or all had been turned, it meant they could easily be the worst of the worst.
He turned the empty bottle of Fanta in his hands at the table he’d grown up at.
He’d been sitting here alone when the call had come in. He’d been twenty at the time, home from college in the States for summer break. And the man on the other end of the line had wanted to talk to him about his future.
Dash had dual citizenship—his mom was from the States, dad born and bred in South Africa. Up until Emme went to college, the family had spent part of every year in the States and Dash had gone to college there. He’d been into mixed martial arts. Semi-pro boxing. Knew how to fire weapons. Add the photography to that, and as his future supervisor would
“I tried to shield you from this shit forever, Em. Didn’t want you to worry.”
She turned to him. She looked stunned, rightfully so, and no doubt angry and scared, and it was everything he hadn’t wanted to do to her.
“I’m sorry, Em,” he said quietly.
“You’re a CIA agent.”
“Yes.”
“Like on TV.”
“They don’t always get it right,” he offered lamely, and when she glared he nodded. “Yes, like that.”
“And you came here to find Lucky.”
“No. That was…coincidence. I was following Nate, the SEAL from his team.”
“You think he was coming here to hurt us?”
“He said he was coming here to surf. He seemed as surprised to find Lucky here as I was.”
“And you think Lucky was sent here to hurt us but lost his memory instead?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“I need some time,” she said quietly, her arms wrapped around herself. “I need to just take some time and absorb all of this.”
“Look, I get that, but we have to talk first,” he said.
“About Lucky?”
“Yes.”
She dropped her arms to her sides and slumped into the kitchen chair. Their parents wouldn’t be back until that evening—he wouldn’t leave her alone until then.
Nate had seemed surprised that Lucky was living with Dash’s family, but they were all skillfully trained liars, and Dash was trained to not believe anyone.
And yet, he believed Lucky. So fuck his training to hell.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Hate to say it, but can you start from the beginning?”
She did, told him the story of finding Lucky, her tone flat the entire time, a monotone monologue. Everything she said matched Lucky’s timeline to a T. She talked about how balanced the books were since he got here. How he split his tips because he said he didn’t need anything. She told him that the majority of the tips were Lucky’s, which Dash could easily see. She talked about his demeanor. His general habits.
Dash had already swept the apartment, house and bar and found nothing out of the ordinary. “Relationships?”
“One-night stands. He was lonely, but he wouldn’t let himself get involved.” She sounded so defensive.
“Did he ever meet with anyone who made you feel uncomfortable?”
“Are you kidding me with this?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I never saw any terrorist at the bar.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
“Feels like it.”
“It’s part of my job, Em. I’ve got to protect you.”
“Wouldn’t need to if you didn’t bring the danger to us.” She stared at him like she’d never seen him before. “So what else is a lie?”
“Nothing.”
“The photography is.”
“No, it’s not. That’s a separate job that happened to work perfectly with this one. It’s what I’d be doing anyway. I’m just lucky I can combine the two.”
At the mention of the word lucky , she blanched. “When can I talk to him?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Could the answer be never?”
“I don’t want it to be.” Truth be told, he’d love to clear these guys. They were American heroes, best of the best.
And if one or all had been turned, it meant they could easily be the worst of the worst.
He turned the empty bottle of Fanta in his hands at the table he’d grown up at.
He’d been sitting here alone when the call had come in. He’d been twenty at the time, home from college in the States for summer break. And the man on the other end of the line had wanted to talk to him about his future.
Dash had dual citizenship—his mom was from the States, dad born and bred in South Africa. Up until Emme went to college, the family had spent part of every year in the States and Dash had gone to college there. He’d been into mixed martial arts. Semi-pro boxing. Knew how to fire weapons. Add the photography to that, and as his future supervisor would
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